Page 13 of Can’t Say No

Grunting in response, he hardly lifts his eyes from his phone. “Going for a run?”

“Yeah, I gotta shake off some energy from the day.” I say with a nervous laugh.

“Smart. Don’t want to let your physique slip while you’re here.” Finally peeling his eyes from the glowing screen in his hands, he assesses the setting sun. “It’s getting dark. Stay on our property.”

I head out the back door wordlessly. I don’t need this run for my damn physique. I need it because I feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin. I need it to burn off some of the electricity coursing in my veins. I need it so I can breathe again.

The air is still thick with humidity but the heat isn’t nearly as oppressive now that the sun has disappeared behind the tree line. I take off running down the familiar path that leads to the back pastures. They used to hold cattle, back before my parents bought the land, but now they’re just wide, open fields.

The closest I’ve ever felt to home is out in this back pasture, running. Not a single soul in sight, just me, my music blasting, and the delicious ache in my chest, my breath feeling more like fire than air. I logged hundreds of miles out here as a teen, running as far as the property line would allow.

The spotty glow of fireflies catches my attention. I might not miss much about Tennessee, but I do miss the simple magic of lightning bugs. With the sun all but gone now, I let myself stop and take in the show the fireflies are putting on. They zip and flicker, seemingly with no direction. It’s captivating. And humbling.

Do I have that same magic, the kind to stop people in their tracks? I used to. At least, that’s what everyone said. But now the shine feels like it might be wearing off. All year, I’ve been running from one scandal to the next, every misstep and embarrassing moment on display.

It pains me to admit, but maybe my banishment to Ridgecrest will turn out to be a good PR move after all. And I really can’t risk any more dents in my shiny image. Because the reality is, if I’m not playing the game—my dad’s, my publicist’s, my fans’—I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.

Probably fade out like the lightning bugs.

“What are you doing on my property?” A winded voice jerks me from my downward spiral.

Pretty sure my heart fully stops then restarts as I see Connor emerge from the apple trees to my right. Shirtless and chest heaving a little as he catches his breath, his body is slick with sweat, and damn it, the sight of him makes me go a little weak in the knees.

“I’m squarely on my land,” I say, hands on my hips in defiance even as a wide grin creeps onto my face. He’s always had that effect on me. I can’t stay stuck in my head for too long around him.

And possibly, this toned, half-naked version of him is increasing his disarming effect.

Connor takes a similar stance, mirroring my playful smile. “I dunno, Delaney. Those toes are right on the line.” The evening darkness settles around us, but I can still see his brown eyes dance with mischief. “Might need a good old-fashioned foot race to decide who’s right.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. “How many fucking arguments did we settle with a race as kids?”

“Lots of them. Until I got faster than you and you decided it was unfair.”

“Because it WAS unfair!” I emphasize with a swat to his muscular chest. “And when did all this happen?” I gesture vaguely around his body, letting my eyes linger a little bit in the cover of darkness. Connor is built. Every inch of his dark skin is defined with taut muscles. A far cry from the gangly kid I used to know.

Connor pops a shoulder in an innocent shrug. “Sometime between binge drinking in college and running marathons in my spare time.”

“That’s such a you answer.”

“How so?” He takes a step closer, into the little swarm of fireflies still dancing around me. My pulse quickens at the change in proximity. I blink once, twice, three times, trying to conjure up the image of him at eleven, all long limbs and crooked teeth, but all I can see is the ridiculously hot version of Connor standing in front of me.

Clearly I need to get laid if standing one foot away from a shirtless guy is messing with my head this much. Especially considering the shirtless guy in question is Connor.

I take a step back, desperate to get some distance between us.

“College parties, running marathons, teaching English at the high school you went to.” I dig at a little patch of dirt with my toe, “You’re living the life I always pictured for you.”

He drops his eyes to the ground. “You’re only seeing one part of the picture. What about you? Are you living the life you pictured?”

His question is a gut punch. Because the answer isn’t so easy. At one point, we’d been close enough that I could explain it–the way my hopes and dreams got caught up in everyone else’s expectations of me until I didn’t know which way was up, the way I chose to numb it all out for years, the way nothing numbs it out anymore.

But that closeness isn’t there anymore, and I can’t begin to explain all that to a virtual stranger.

So I lie.

“Yes.”

Connor’s eyes burn into mine, and it sends a shiver through my body.